


Sadism

by Vimini



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, slight gore, slight hints of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22278223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vimini/pseuds/Vimini
Summary: Someone requested: So I saw your masterlist and I'm literally so happy you write for RZ Michael. I was wondering if you could write an x reader smut for him? Like, Michael comes home angry from a kill and just needs some fuckin' y'know? If you don't want to write, thas fine. But if you do, Thank you so much!!Ah yes, my boy…  (=°∀°)=3  Sorry that this isn’t exactly smut but I hope it’s still fine!
Relationships: Michael Myers/Reader, Michael Myers/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	Sadism

_Red. Heat, fading, but still there, slick to touch, disgusting to smell, iron, filling his lungs, enveloping him, a slight shiver of pleasure crawling on his back, the mask hiding a wicked smile, contrasting the coldness of his eyes. The white latex shielding the world from the maniac underneath, but he couldn’t help it, the rush of blood and power was just too good to pass up, even if he promised, even if he swore, the voice still sang. More, give it more._

It was gone, you noticed it immediately, the biggest knife in your kitchen had disappeared, not sitting in the sink, nor laying on the cutting board, no, gone, completely and you had a strong suspicion on where it ended up, or rather, in whose hands. 

He promised you; that he would keep the urge down, come to you when it appears, deal with it in a different way, because you were scared, terrified of him every time that thin line holding him sane snapped. 

Yet he was gone again, and you felt the rush of blood in your head quicken, an urge to hide and wait it out rising in a rapid pace, you feared seeing him like that again, even if your body and mind knew him as your lover, it was a terrifying sight. 

Sitting on your bed, cuddled up into a cover, you eyed the closed, pondering whether you should lock yourself in there and hope he’d just mistake you for a pile of sheets to be washed if you lied with it there, but somehow you knew he wouldn’t. He was like an animal if he wanted to be, always sniffed you out one way or another, there was no hiding from him, not when he was like this.

And like an answer to your fear, the echo of bootsteps reached your ears, your lungs almost collapsing on themselves as your body recognized the sound, telling you to run, hide, disappear, just be safe, but there was no avoiding him.

He didn’t call you either, instead his fist slammed against a wall downstairs, echoing through the seemingly empty house, but he knew you were there, his instinct told him as much, he knew you’d hear and you knew that he was amused by the image of you trembling on the bed as he approached, but this time, he’d make you come to him. 

You hesitated on the bed, your body refused to move towards danger, even if you knew refusing him would only lead to things getting worse. 

Another bang, louder, impatient, hard enough for you to bolt up and stumble your way out of the room, legs threatening to give up under your weight, you didn’t want to move, but you had to.

Your feet hit the floorboards, getting off the last step and walking into your living room, a faint scrapping sound sounding somewhere behind you, a knife being dragged on the wall and a faint excited breath mixing with it, but you wouldn’t dare look back at it’s source.You knew he was there, starring at you, the shivers on your body traveling with his gaze, cold, focused, predatory, no need to even look for it, it was there.

And when the floor boards creaked again underneath Michael’s weight you stiffened, closing your eyes, letting him do whatever he wanted, afraid to stir him into a mad mood. 

His breath hit your back first, then your brain registered his smell, testosterone, sweat, mixing with iron and the wet scent of his coveralls, the essence of a serial killer, of a devil. 

The cold metal of his knife pressed gently onto your naked hip, a ‘hello’, you could only assume, confirmed by the feeling of the hard leather covering his face nuzzling into your neck, followed by the tickling of his messed up hair. He has gotten more creative with his masks now that he had more materials to work with. Few understood how artistic this man was, well, mostly because only 3 or 4 people have ever tried to get to know him, 2 of which were dead.

“H-hello, Michael.” you returned his greeting, fighting your body not to tremble under his touch and failing miserably. The warm trickle of blood on your thigh let you know that the blade has tasted it not long ago. He didn’t answer you, but then again, you expected as much. “Michael…” Again, nothing but the metal pressing harder onto your skin, slowly, creating a small cut, but not one that would bleed, only something to get you to shiver, he wanted to play.

Yet, you were not having it. 

With a quick tug you managed to free yourself, turning towards him and grabbing his wrists. “Stop!” with whatever courage you could muster you raised your voice and felt his gaze sharpen, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye, stare glued to his boots, black glistening with the small hint of red. His hands twisted, easily escaping your grasp, instead trapping you in his, pressing onto you lightly, but enough for your body to feel his strength, quiver underneath it and even with your lowered gaze you noticed how his long blonde hair moved with a head tilt, silently questioning your actions, making you realize that what you just did was a mistake. “Michael…” You wanted to talk, but your brain failed to pick any good sentence to explain yourself, so instead you focused on another thing. “How many… how many people…?” you gulped, feeling your throat tighten with every word, knowing that it was not something you should be pressing on in this moment and soon enough he confirmed your fears.

A sharp pain flamed through your body, a hit, hard enough for you to fall back on a couch with a pained huff. Your eyes immediately met with Michael’s, darker from the shadow his mask was still casting, but you could tell the rage in them none the less. He didn’t enjoy your question, but even more so he hated that you were trying to oppose him. Really, he though he taught you that lesson at day 1 of your little ‘special’ relationship.

One of his knees dug into the couch, letting him trap you on the piece of furniture, fully at his disposal, both of his hands cupping your face and forcing it up, to keep looking at him as he leaned in closer, pressing his masked forehead against yours, hair tickling your skin in the most unpleasant manner. He was watching you, waiting for your next move, ready to extinguish any flame of rebellion that dared to flare up, but what he wasn’t ready for was your eyes squinting and watering up as you looked up at him, lips quivering under his bloody thumb.

It made him laugh. A warm, sadistic laughter, low and dangerous, but surprisingly calm coming from this man. All the anger gone in a second, replaced by a sick satisfaction caused by your panic. He hushed you, lowering his head enough so the nose of his mask could press lightly against yours.

“ **One.** ” his voice startled you even more than his laughter, brought you back into attention. “ **No more… if you behave.** ” and again your lip quivered, because you knew what it meant, your body already recoiling at the memory; pain, bruises, torn skin, aching scalp and blood, yours and nobody’s else. “ **So?** ” the hoarseness of his voice did nothing to soothe your anxiety, but still, your eyes met his. 

One of your hands went down to his crotch, ghosting the shape of his dick, already half-erect from all the pent up aggression in his head threatening to spill out if anything else objects him. Your fingers pulled him closer, eyes shyly asking for permission and when he straightened you knew it was fine, safe to undo his coveralls, to trail your fingers against his chest, down his stomach, all the way to his abdomen, but before you could touch his crotch again a sharp tug stopped you, your head burning as your hair got pulled all too roughly. You looked up to see his eyes asking you a question and with hesitation you answered.

“I’ll be good… Michael.” you huffed, looking away in shame and again you could hear the soft sound of his satisfied laughter.

This night would be a long one, but hopefully the knife won’t come back to greet you. If you behave, that is.


End file.
